


Swallow

by Celtic_Knot



Category: Hakuouki
Genre: Emotional Hurt, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-21
Updated: 2015-08-21
Packaged: 2018-04-16 09:20:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4620000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celtic_Knot/pseuds/Celtic_Knot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The anger that had been preparing itself to strike out rolls over in defeat. That’s not the answer he had been expecting, but it’s the truth. There’s no deceit. Nothing concealed from Souji. If anything he’s inviting him to look for whatever he wants. A lie, a sign of nerves or discomfort. Heisuke’s got nothing to hide and the little shit knows it.</i>
</p>
<p>Souji has never accepted pity from anyone, but what Heisuke's offering is something entirely different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Swallow

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer:** I do not own Hakuouki, nor did I in any way contribute to its creation. All rights go to their respective owners.
> 
> **WARNINGS:** Emotional hurt/comfort, swearing, illnesses sucks, Souji's brain is a crazy place. 
> 
> I have never seen a fic focusing on Heisuke and Souji's relationship, so I decided to take a shot at it. I used a short scene from Kazama hen as a jumping off point. Experimental fic.

* * *

_“Sometimes we need someone to simply be there. Not to say anything or fix anything, but to let us know they're on our side, and that they care for us.” – Unknown_

 

It’s not that he and Heisuke don’t get along, or that they don’t converse. They do, but not like this. They exchange occasional taunts over dinner, and mess around with each other on patrol. He has definitely roughed Heisuke up more than once when Hajime-kun isn’t around for him to spar with... Friends is a strange word, but it seems like the closest fit. Even so, they just don’t tend to gravitate towards each other. Souji’s not exactly great at the whole fitting into a group thing, he says things that are inflammatory just to see if he can bring the whole house crashing down on his head. There are moments when he can see Heisuke flinch at his jokes, drawing away from him with that wary look playing across his face. And sometimes he finds the other’s laughter too loud, almost suffocatingly warm when it spills into the confined space of the room where they eat. Sure those moments are less frequent than they used to be. When Heisuke first arrived at Shieikan he had been a bit skittish around Souji, never entirely sure whether or not Souji was serious when he threatened bodily harm. They’ve come a long way since then.

Time breeds some sort of understanding. They’ve accepted each other’s idiosyncrasies, acknowledged that there are some things they’ll probably never see eye to eye on. Kondo-san is it for him. Heisuke concerns himself with others. He creates games of saying things he doesn’t mean, Heisuke is painfully earnest. He’s dark humor spun around lies, while Heisuke is sunlight gathered into welcoming honesty. And that’s why Heisuke’s request to talk to him privately instantly has him on alert. It’s unusual behavior for Heisuke to not just blurt out whatever he has to say in front of the others, stranger still for him to seek out Souji instead of Sanosuke or Shinpachi. There’s agitation sticking itself into him with that uncomfortable prickly feeling. But it doesn’t show. Smiles make good disguises. It’s easy to lock his wariness behind his teeth, and conceal his uncertainty in the upward curve of his lips.

“So what did you want to talk about?”

“I saw you the other day-“ Heisuke’s tone is low, serious. He doesn’t like it. He likes his expression even less. Soft yet insistent. There’s something he needs to know, but he looks as though he’s afraid Souji will crumble away when his words touch him. “You were coughing up blood.”

“Well what did you expect? That’s what happens when you get a couple of ribs kicked in.” Souji is no fool. What happened at the Ikedaya Inn isn’t what Heisuke’s talking about. No, they’d recovered from those injuries together. But as the wound to Heisuke’s forehead healed, his cough remained. Still, he tries to throw him off. Stich just enough danger into the way he pitches the joke that he’ll back down. The benefits of making others uneasy almost outweighs the costs. Almost, but not quite.

“That’s not it!” Eyes narrow at the outburst. Since when does Heisuke raise his voice at him? He’s prone to becoming loud when excited, but there’s a different kind of volume to his voice now. It’s harder, rougher. No joy or humor to round out the edges. It feels funny to be the one pulling this kind of ire from Heisuke. Although, who else could manage to make him sounds this way? Definitely not Chizuru, not Hajime-kun or Shinpachi either. “I’m talking about yesterday. I saw you leaning against a tree, coughing up blood.”

He saw him, did he? Emotions skitter away, avoiding being pinned down. His smile doesn’t slip even as he manages to recapture frustration and surprise while humor slips out the back door. Of all the people who could have noticed, Heisuke… That’s a good one, good enough that he laughs silently to himself. If Heisuke notices that sound isn’t the only thing missing from the laugh, he doesn’t say anything. He’d been betting on Hajime-kun or Chizuru figuring it out first. Symptoms have been refusing to stay in hiding. Coughs rip their way out of his throat no matter how hard he tries to hold them back. Sometimes they’re so violent that his vision blackens, and he finds himself struggling to stay upright. Blood coats his tongue, stains his teeth, falls from his lips. Finds itself in all these places that it does not belong. Night sweats and fevers murder restful sleep and hold strength hostage. It’s difficult to remember the last time he woke up feeling refreshed instead of haggard, and weak. Even more so being sick makes him frustrated, discouraged, angry… All these things contribute to a different kind of illness. The kind that tumbles around your head and bangs against your mind until you can’t remember anything except for what a bitch life is. Souji fears that sickness almost as much as losing control of his body.

Control is key. Control is what allows for goals to be met. And yet his health is out of his hands. He grows sicker and sicker. Chizuru is a doctor’s kid, and Hajime-kun has seemed to be watching him even _more_ carefully than normal. But Heisuke, he never saw that one coming. Maybe he should have. For all his exuberance, he’s actually pretty watchful. Not in the same way as Hajime-kun or even Hijikata-san. Things that those two catch onto fly over Heisuke’s head. But pain, fear, uncertainty. He picks up on those as well as anyone. He’s always the first one to butt in when a friend seems to be struggling, was the first one to try and give Chizuru any comfort. The moment Chizuru looks down or Sanosuke seems off, Heisuke’s expression goes from boisterous to pensive. He’s always trying to figure out the best way to help others feel better, and sometimes he messes up, but that is usually amusing enough in and of itself that the end result (cheering them up) is the same. And so Souji curses his own oversight at not paying more attention to who has been watching him. Muscles always seem to stock themselves up with emotion. His shoulders tense with a rigidness entirely different than the way his muscles gather in anticipation battle. Fingers curl into his palms trying to keep his aggression balled up where it won’t be seen. If Heisuke knows then…

“Oh, you saw that?” That question requires no answer. But the next one demands it, “Did you tell anybody?”

“No.” His voice starts off firm before it drops down into something softer, gentler. “How could I?”

The anger that had been preparing itself to strike out rolls over in defeat. That’s not the answer he had been expecting, but it’s the truth. There’s no deceit. Nothing concealed from Souji. If anything he’s _inviting_  him to look for whatever he wants. A lie, a sign of nerves or discomfort. Heisuke’s got nothing to hide and the little shit knows it. Maybe that’s a strength in its own right, that ability to be so open, so honest. Yet no matter how much Heisuke lets others in he never seems compromise any part of himself. But honesty is not the same thing as entirety, and he’s never taken anything at face value. There’s more to that answer than what can be skimmed off the surface. The first part, ‘no’ is straightforward. Surprising, given Heisuke’s tendency to over share certain things, but nothing to be concerned over. It’s the question tossed at his feet, ‘how could I?’ that scratches at him. How could Heisuke _not_ tell anyone is more like it.

There’s an unknown reason for him to hold this back for Souji, and as much as he’s relieved that he won’t have to threaten him into silence it’s unsettling not knowing why he’d do this. Does he somehow know why this needs to be a secret? Can he read the desperation, _don’t make Kondo-san worry, don’t give Hijikata-san a reason to send me away?_ That doesn’t seem quite possible. These thoughts have never been given a life outside of his mind, and there’s no way he’s that transparent. You can’t be that translucent when you’ve stained yourself red with blood, and all the various implications that come with it. Because blood is never _just_ blood. He searches Heisuke’s face for an ulterior motive one last time, but clenched fists, and a set jaw offer nothing but stubbornness and a sliver of hurt at Souji believing he’d go tell the other guys.

“Souji.” Heisuke’s lips work around unpleasant thoughts, forehead creasing slightly as he tries to mold them into even less pleasant words. “Do you think- Is it tuberculosis?”

“I wonder if the ochimizu could cure it.” This is as good a conformation as any. And the pain that jolts through Heisuke’s body would satisfying if it not for the way it crams something sour down his throat that has its own uniquely terrible taste. It’s particularly nasty to throw the ochimizu at Heisuke, he _knows_ exactly how much he hates it… But he says it anyway. Says it while fully aware of the turmoil it will plunge his friend into. It’s better to get him pissed off than it is to allow him time to lament Souji’s misfortune. Heisuke’s temper is easy enough to handle, he’s usually pretty quick to forgive a transgression against himself (it’s when you fuck with his friends that you have to watch yourself).

“Don’t you dare joke about that!” Heisuke’s hands fly to his collar, and yank him forward until their faces are almost touching. At this proximity he can taste the fear and angerin Heisuke’s breathe. There’s been a line crossed, he realizes this as Heisuke jerks him around with each word he speaks as though he can shake any thoughts of the ochimizu right from Souji’s mind. “You should know that nothing is worth what happens to the guys who drink that shit!”

“Even I wouldn’t stoop that low!” Shoving Heisuke away is harder than it should be. His arms feel heavy and limp while the hands twisted into his collar tremble with rage and squeeze tighter still, demanding answers he doesn’t have. His palms connect with Heisuke’s chest with enough force to send him stumbling back a few steps. This has escalated quickly. He went for too sensitive a topic with his barb about the ochimizu. Instead of stinging just enough that he’ll leave to go find Sano or Shin, he’s torn into Heisuke too deeply. Struck a nerve that shoots a frustrating need to protect through Heisuke.

“Then don’t joke about using it as a cure.” The emotion that cracks through is raw, and awful. Raking Heisuke’s throat with what sounds almost like tears ground up by frustration. This wasn’t his intention. But he’s used to hurting people more than he means to. He gave Heisuke a chance to lay off, it’s not his fault he didn’t take it. Idiot.

“I know.” And he does know. Knows the ochimizu won’t help him. Heisuke’s not the only one who hates it. If he were to drink it… If his mind were to deteriorate to that point, then how could he be any use to Kondo-san? He’d be nothing but an even bigger burden if the guys had to hunt him down, and kill him. He’s deadly enough without the power granted by Kodo’s experiment. He’d probably kill at least one of them if he were to lose it. His reasons for hating the vile poison are entirely focused on how it would affect his ability to fulfil his purpose. The sacrifice of his humanity wouldn’t bother him, hasn’t he already done that? The judgement and fear from the others wouldn’t bug him (much) either. No, it has nothing to do with any part of himself being not worth losing, and everything to do with how it would take away his ability to be useful to Kondo-san. Heisuke, on the other hand, despises the pain it causes, despises the way it warps friends and comrades into something entirely unrecognizable. So who’s the bigger fool here? The guy who’s going to end up either dead or bed ridden, or the one who tortures himself with the choices other people make?

It’s stifling standing here like this. Uncomfortable how quickly Heisuke’s anger has cooled into something more hazardous. Concern. It darts from Heisuke’s eyes into Souji’s chest, until there’s a dull ache competing with the burn left by frequent coughing. It’s difficult to accept something like concern. It’s a gift that comes with expectations. Expectations that in return for compassion you’ll give insight. Tell them how you’re feeling, what you’re thinking. Give away your thoughts and privacy as a reward, so that they may be used against you in the future. How many people are actually capable of sitting there while you say nothing, capable of sharing your pain but not taking anything in return? Not many. Because people are selfish, they don’t do things for free. They want validation, reassurance that they’re being _such_ a good person by helping you out. They use your hardship as an avenue to feeling good about themselves. Fuck that.

Sure, his illness is becoming too serious to hide, but it doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t change his purpose, his goals. All it does is give him a shorter time frame to work with. His life has only ever been to serve Kondo-san (and the Shinsengumi by extension) as a sword for murder. He’ll just become dull and broken a little sooner than expected. These things happen, every weapon has a finite number of swings in it. So he doesn’t need anyone to worry about him. There is no point in wasting energy on what can’t be helped. But when Heisuke’s hand falls on his shoulder and squeezes, he doesn’t swat it away. Can’t bring himself to bat away the weight of a hand that offers forgiveness, that tells him he _doesn’t_ blame him for baiting him the way he did. It’s hard to stay upset with Heisuke, harder still to understand where he finds those seemingly endless reserves of thoughtfulness and compassion.

“I won’t say anything, it’s not my place to tell anyone.” Heisuke’s eyes squeeze shut for a brief moment, shoulders slumping as the last bit of tension leaves him. Finally he smiles, nearly the same as usual ones if not for the way there’s resignation settling on the fringes. “But you better take care of yourself.”

“Have you always been this clingy?” Souji knocks his knuckles against Heisuke’s head, “Or have Sanosuke and Shinpachi not been giving you enough attention?”

Heisuke laughs, the sound frees a breath he definitely wasn’t holding. They’re alright, his secret is safe for now. “Screw you, Souji!”

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

He would have never believed it possible to be perturbed by fruit until he woke up to find a single peach resting beside him. Perfectly round, perfectly ripe, but definitely out of place. A pop of yellowish pink against the stark whiteness of his sheets. Somebody had the guts to sneak in here while he was sleeping and leave this. It’s unnerving that he hadn’t awoken when someone entered his room, but his body feels lighter, slightly less worn down. When he reaches out to grab the peach his arm moves right when he wills it to, no grinding lag or aching stiffness. Perhaps a decent night’s sleep is worth missing a fruit-leaving intruder. Really it could have only been one of two people, Chizuru or maybe Heisuke. It’s not as though he isn’t used to either of their presences by now, surely he would have reacted if it had been a stranger. He’s not that far gone yet. _Not yet._

It’s with that reassurance he allows himself to take a bite. Its skin breaks easily under his teeth. It’s almost too juicy, liquid spilling down his chin. There’s no way to eat it without making a sticky mess. But it’s sweet, and tangy. A nice break from the metallic taste of blood and bitterness of medicine. For all the softness of the fruit, the flavor is strong enough to chase away those horrible tastes that seem to linger long after he’s rinsed his mouth out. His appetite has been lacking, but he’s desperate enough to rid himself of the tang of sickness that the peach is gone in several large bites.

Bothering Chizuru in the kitchen is the natural way to start his day. Nothing says _good morning_ quite like torment. Besides, he’s looking forward to chastising her about entering a man’s room while he sleeps, if she is indeed the one who brought him that gift. She’ll probably blush, and sputter. Take him entirely too seriously like she always does. Chizuru needs to learn to lighten up a bit. She’ll burn herself out worrying over all the guys the way she does, flitting around like a nervous humming bird. Wings beating so fast that she expends nearly as much energy as she can take in. It seems like a terrible survival strategy, to make sure the needs of others get met almost at the expense of your own. Constantly teetering between helping and sacrificing. But there’s a definite difference between living and surviving, and she seems to have that down well enough (better than most, actually).

The other captains can almost pretend their meager meals are filling because Chizuru packs so much other stuff in there that Souji doesn’t think he could ever manage. He’s too salty. His cooking reflects that in quite a literal sense. For a girl who’d lived her whole life with her ‘kind’ old father, she fits in well. There’s a resilience there that seems to be a common thread among their little troop. Ever since Shieikan their dysfunctional family unit has been growing, each new addition finding his place. Souji was first at only nine years old, Shinpachi was next, Sano soon after, Heisuke came along some time in the spring, and Hajime-kun showed up just as fall began to wither into winter. Now years later, they had Chizuru too.

“Good morning, Okita-san!”

“Morning Chizuru, you’re up early. Raiding the kitchen while the rest of us sleep? That’s very sneaky.”

“No! I haven’t been up that long, and I’m just-“ Her cheeks flush, “I got up early to start making breakfast for everyone but that’s it.”

“Sure thing, Chizuru.” He believes her, but of course he chooses to smirk as though he’s caught her in a lie just to see her squirm. It’s reassuring that he can still draw these reactions from her. That he still knows which strings to pull, his fingers haven’t lost all finesse yet.

The knife nearly nicking her finger tips while she chops vegetables is his cue to leave, the last thing she needs is to slice herself over him being an ass. Normally he takes joy in his destabilizing effect, but blood and fingers tips are generally not acceptable ingredients to add to rice. Moreover, if she’d gone right from waking to cooking then that means he owes Heisuke a little visit. See what exactly that idiot thinks he was trying to pull. His suspicions of Heisuke being his peach-delivery boy are confirmed when the finds him sitting in the garden. Normally it takes a little extra prodding to get Heisuke up in the morning. Whether that be Shin dumping water on him, Sano tickling him, or Souji poking his ribs with a bokken (all of these methods are overkill according to Hijikata-san. It’s not their fault that Heisuke goes from snoring to yelling in about two and a quarter seconds).

Seeing him awake and alert before any of the others have made their appearance is rare. He starts toward him, but approaching him after their discussion yesterday feels strange. Feels clumsy. It’s not Heisuke that seems any different, it’s him. He’s gone through these same motions a thousand times, yet it’s all wrong. His shoulders aren’t square enough, his steps are too hesitant, and for god’s sake his smile is just this side of too crooked. All these things he _knows_ are off. He can feel the way they hang on his awareness with a weight that bends pieces of himself down until it feels as though he’s caged by his own consciousness. It’s so pathetic it’s funny.

“Hey, Souji! I didn’t think you’d be up yet.” The greeting is comfortable, if not a bit fuzzy with lingering sleepiness.

“That should be my line. Since when does your ass get out of bed before everyone else?” It sounds good. He’s successfully located his snark from where it had been keeping self-loathing company.

“Yeah,” Heisuke’s hand twitches like he wants to scratch the back of his neck, but he forces the nervous habit away. “I had stuff to do early this morning-“

“Like breaking in?”

“What!?” Surprise always makes Heisuke look a couple years younger, the way his eyes widen and he looks genuinely bewildered before his brain manages to connect point A to point B. “Oh, that! How is leaving you a present breaking in?”

“I suppose you didn’t actually break anything…” He smirks, “But you did enter without permission, how many of your fingers should I chop off for that?”

“None.” The huff that comes from him is indignant, and so perfectly Heisuke, that he can’t help but chuckle. “See if I do anything nice for you ever again.”

“I never asked you to.” His voice sharpens, but doesn’t seem to do any damage.

Heisuke looks as though he was expecting that response, “You didn’t have to, Souji. That’s part of the point of being friends.” He says it like that should be obvious, shaking his head.

Souji tilts his head, and studies him. At first he had believed Heisuke to be naïve. Since then he’s corrected that assumption through days, months, and years of observation. It’s not that Heisuke lacks experience or wisdom, anyone who manages to become a Shinsengumi captain by eighteen has seen his share of shit. It’s that he doesn’t internalize disappointment or regret. Sure he feels them, everybody does. But somehow he manages to keep them from clinging onto him, never gives them time to bite into him and rot that spark for life he always seems to carry around. He manages to fit joy into battle, without exchanging his humanity. He has figured out a way to give himself to others, without becoming empty. There are different kinds of maturity, and Heisuke’s lies in the way he keeps moving forward without narrowing his path as he goes. Maybe that’s why his concern isn’t patronizing like it is coming from some of the others. He accepts that Souji is sick, accepts that he cannot change that. But that doesn’t mean he can’t find room to share kindness. Not everything has to be about fixing what’s broken. Sometimes attempting a repair is nothing but trying to attach a dead limb back onto a body that’s already learned to live without it.

“You’re lucky I like peaches, or I might have had to kill you.” The joke is probably as tired as he is, but it’s become second nature. His lips move faster than his brain.

Heisuke smiles knowingly, chin resting on a propped up knee, “I figured you were in need of something sweet, between the medicine and Kondo-san spiking your porridge with green onions.”

Ah, so he heard about the green onion incident. Chizuru must’ve told him. “You could have brought me candy instead.”

“That’s no good for you.” Rich coming from Heisuke whose sake intake is significantly greater than any doctor would recommend. “But peaches taste good, _and_ are healthy. Not everything that’s good for you has to taste like shit.”

If only that were true for everything. Many things are glazed with a sickly sweetness that belies their underlying malignance. They melt like spun sugar on your tongue, deceivingly delicious. So you swallow them down again, and again until you’re addicted. Pity comes to mind. He’s grateful that Kondo-san never fed him compassion that dissolves into weakness. It’s easy when you’re lost and alone to cling onto someone willing to give their sympathy, but you become reliant. Begin to crave the support that slips so easily into the cracks left by every feeling of abandonment, of lose, of hardship. But even as pity fills these cracks in, it crumbles away over time and you are left constantly seeking more to fill them in again. It’s a vicious cycle of crippling dependence.

Then there are other things that are healthy, but aren’t exactly tasty. They’ll make you stronger, but only if you can actually manage to choke them down. He’s not sure what exactly Heisuke is offering, but it seems easy enough to swallow. And he doesn’t feel that honey coated decay sticking to his insides, so this is ok. There’s nothing wrong with seeing where it goes. Actually, it might be fun. Matsumoto-sensei is aggravating, Hijikata-san is asinine, and his own body isn’t exactly on his side. But Heisuke, he’s not a bad choice to have in your corner.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Diseases tend to be moody. They give you good days, and bad days in seemingly random occurrence. And that’s alright, Souji has known for a long time that life is a temperamental bitch. Can’t expect anything to stay too good for too long, so he knows the days when he’s just a little fatigued and his temperature is almost normal are fleeting. But more frustrating than the changes to his body, are the changes in the behavior of everyone around him. They know. Well they might not _know_ , but they realize that colds don’t act this way. Colds don’t consume body weight, and replace it with chills. Colds don’t ring your lungs like an old rusted bell until you’re chiming with that terrible wheezing sound. Colds don’t rob skin of color so that the blood you cough up has a more perfectly white canvas. This is just the nature of the beast when it comes tuberculosis, but he has never felt sorry for himself. There’s nothing to feel sorry for when the whole experience of being a human is the cycling of pain, loss, and just enough joy that you have somewhere to crash down from.

If consumption has taught him one thing it’s that people treat sick people like shit. Everyone looks at him like they want to apologize, say they’re sorry for his condition. Apologies are for when you’ve done something wrong, and none of those idiots had anything to do with him catching this crap. So they all need to keep their sympathies to themselves. They all have different ways of being obnoxiously over bearing. Hijikata-san rides his ass incessantly about getting enough rest, or eating more, so that he can get his butt back to the battlefield. And Kondo-san… It’s even worse with him. Unlike Hijikata-san he doesn’t veil his worry under layers of snappish demands. He checks on him, brings him extra blankets, helps Chizuru to cook for him. It’s too much. Kondo-san’s affection is heavy. Souji has already sworn himself to being a tool for Kondo-san’s success. How else can he repay him from saving him from hating the world all together? For pulling him out a place of complete isolation and loneliness.

Those memories always feels cold, dark. Numbness that starts in his hands, and travels up to his face until his eyes frost over and he can’t see light. Kondo-san rescued him from that. He stands for everything Souji had thought to be nonexistence in a world where the selfish and cruel seemed to triumph. But it’s hard to be a sword, and to be able accept that kind of older brotherly love Kondo-san has for him. Blades can’t feel, and yet he strives for Kondo-san’s approval. No matter how many men he cuts down, no matter how perfectly sharp he makes himself, he’s still small under the burden of being worthy of Kondo-san. And now he’s sick, and Kondo-san’s ‘help’ is agonizing. Wrenching his guts around the point of guilt that stabs at him. Because concern and help are close to pity, and Kondo-san would never do that to him… But he doesn’t understand what it’s like to be forced to accept more and more when you’re already not enough. This infuriatingly complicated knot needs worked out, and there’s only one way he knows how to do that.

Fingers tighten around his bokken. How fortunate that Heisuke has agreed to spar with him. While the others shy away from fighting a sick guy, Heisuke (and occasionally Hajime-kun) indulge him in the only activity that reminds him he’s alive. His lungs don’t work great, but they work well enough that he’s still breathing. His muscles are sore and stiff, but he’s still moving. Small victories add into larger ones, he’s already bested Heisuke in three out of their last four rounds. Technically he’s already won best three out of five, but Heisuke won a round with a painful blow to his shoulder and he’s not quite done paying him back for that yet. Any excuse to drag this out just a little longer. His body is behaving well enough that he is going wring every second out this match.

His shoulder stings when he raises his practice weapon, but it’s a good kind of hurt. Knocking his attention away from the wheezing in his chest. Heisuke isn’t holding back, he’s grateful for that. He’s coming at him with that same enthusiasm he puts into everything. He’s grown as a swordsman. Souji can recall his very first fight against Heisuke, talented but a bit rash, inexperienced. He’s still impulsive, but his instincts have gotten far more reliable. He finds his way _out_ of sticky situations in battle, more than he gets himself _into_ them. Sure he doesn’t hit as hard as Shinpachi or move as swiftly as Hajime-kun, but he’s here. And he’s fighting Souji with everything he’s got. Strangely enough trying to beat him with a wooden stick is the kindest thing anyone has done for him since he fell ill. Because Heisuke is giving him what he needs as Souji, not as a patient. Exhilaration, intensity, risk. All these things he’s missed, come surging forward along with Heisuke’s bokken.

The strike is quick and powerful, but he blocks it. The motion is jarring. His arms look too thin in front of his face where he holds Heisuke’s attack before forcing it away. What his body is currently lacking he overcomes by sheer power of will. Pain, exhaustion, light-headedness, all shoved down until they’re barely a dull hum in the back of his consciousness. The two of them exchange blows until he sees it. Sees the perfect opening, and slides his bokken past Heisuke’ defenses until it connects with his ribcage. There’s the sound of air being chased out of lungs while Heisuke’s face contorts into a grimace. One, two, three staggering steps before he tumbles backwards. There. Heisuke: 1 Souji: 4. He’ll take those numbers. He’ll also take the mock glare Heisuke’s shooting him from his place in the dirt.

“Ouch Souji! I think you cracked my damn ribs.” It’s meant to sound scolding. But lips keep twitching toward a smile, and eyes crinkle with amusement.

“Oh come off it, you’re fine.” He pokes Heisuke’s forehead with his bokken. The scar from Ikedaya is visible beneath his bangs. “Wanna go again?”

A loud groan. “No. I’m all set on punishment for today, thanks.”

“But-“

“I’m tired, Souji.” Oh yeah, tired. Now that he mentions it, he’s pretty tired too. Adrenaline doesn’t tend to stick around for long, and it leaves the door open for aches, and chills that had been kept at bay by the exhilaration of the fight. He hadn’t even noticed a wave of sickness creeping up on him. If he kept going there’s a chance he might have collapsed. Sparring makes his spirit hurt less, but it runs the clock down on his physical condition. Had Heisuke realized he needed to stop? Maybe. Or he’s just looking too deeply into this.

Fingers wrap around his ankle, and tug until he’s pulled just a touch off balance. _Sit with me._ Heisuke is full of these strange little gestures. Reading them has become easier and easier. A nudging reminder of how constant Heisuke’s presence has been. He’s simply _there,_ no pressure, no nagging, just company. Company he’s found enjoyable in spite of himself. So it’s not surprising when he allows himself to sit down beside Heisuke who’s still sprawled out on his back, all loose hairs and stretched limbs. And it’s quiet. For all the talking Heisuke does he knows when to be silent. He knows better than to try and force talks of illness or recoveries on him. It’s his body. Nobody can tell him what is pushing himself too hard, or how much he should be eating. They’re not the ones who have to deal with the way his stomach turns, and his throat burns when he tries to eat. They’re not the ones that have had to figure out how to walk the precarious line between resting and wasting away in bed. Sometimes sleep helps, other times he’s certain he’ll melt into his bed and never get up.

Some mornings are especially terrible, when the blankets feel like they weigh more than he does and he can’t tell if the sheets or his skin is paler. The question of if this is the last day he’ll be able to get out of bed circles around his head. Death isn’t frightening, but lying there _waiting_ to die is. Souji doesn’t wait for death to find him, he goes out looking for it. Whether it’s his or someone else’s, that’s fine. So long as he’s an active participant and not an unwilling victim. That’s where Heisuke comes in. He breaks up these dark thoughts with stories about his (drunken) adventures with Sano and Shinpachi, or jokes about Hijikata-san’s unfairly placed wrath. The conversation never steers toward illness. That’s not to say Heisuke isn’t worried. Souji has caught him slipping honey into his tea, and washing his bloodied coughing rags. Heisuke doing laundry is a sight. His technique leaves something to be desired. Souji would tease him about it if there wasn’t something in the quiet determination of the action that stops the words in his throat. These thoughts are bordering on overly soft, and he’s got to do something about that quick.

“You were almost slightly better than normal today,” He flicks Heisuke’s cheek, “So good job there.”

“Thanks Souji.” He grins. “By the way, how’s your shoulder?” _That little brat._

“It’s fine. Though that was pretty terrible of you. Beating up an invalid. You have no shame.” Maybe he’s rubbing off on Heisuke, because the guilt that would have been there not long ago is replaced with an eye roll.

“You would have killed me if I held anything back.” Heisuke pokes at his ribs, cringing. “And you still won.”

“Of course I won, that should be no surprise~”

Heisuke glares at him before he breaks out laughing. It’s light and airy. He inhales sharply, trying to borrow some of that breath that comes so easily. It’s stupid, but he’s envious of that boundless energy. There’s a sharp dichotomy between what he wants to do, and what he’s capable of doing. Killing for the Shinsengumi is all he has ever been useful for, no matter what the length of his life is. Long or short, it doesn’t matter so long as it’s time well spent. But now he’s languishing, and the chances of him dying in battle rather than in bed are growing pretty slim. Today has been a good day, but if he continues to deteriorate at the rate he’s been going it won’t be long before he’s completely useless. Not long before no matter how much he wants to swing a sword his fingers will not be physically capable of maintaining a grip. Not long before no amount of effort will be enough to convince his legs that they can bare his weight. And that is something he doesn’t even want to think about, but it’s impossible not to when he’s surrounded by very capable warriors that are everything he should be.

Heisuke lying here on the ground is sore reminder as well. Because even with dust and sweat caked on, he looks good. There’s healthy color in his face, muscles taunt under skin that isn’t translucent. He’d probably be ready to go again after a short rest, Souji will be lucky if a day or two has him feeling restored. But he’s obliterated any part of himself that may have found his misfortune to be unfair. This sickness is a pain in the ass, but bad things happen for no reason. This isn’t punishment, life doesn’t need an excuse to burden you with suffering. Heisuke isn’t healthy while he’s sick because he’s a better person than him. That’s not how it works. You get shit thrown at you no matter who you are, no matter what you do. And then you have to learn to live with the implications of the hardships you’ve been given. Some people overcome, others fall and don’t get back up.

“Oi Souji,” Heisuke rolls from his back to his stomach, “We need to spar again soon.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ve got to do better than one out of five.”

“You can try, but don’t hold your breath.” The rude words are at odds with his amused tone.

Somehow having something to look forward to, no matter how small, makes it just a bit easier to ignore the fatigue that permeates him. Maybe Heisuke’s an idiot, but he seems to think that Souji’s got a bit of fight left in him and that’s enough to help him beat down insecurities that lurk behind the approaching reality of his usefulness running out. Kondo-san needs him, Heisuke hasn’t counted him out yet. There’s still time, not much. But maybe enough.

_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_

Souji is fairly certain that his body is trying to rid itself altogether of his disease infested lungs. Trying to force them out of his too narrow throat, leaving the rest of him shaking with the effort. He’s hot, but he’s also cold. Clammy with sweat that’s cooled by the air around him, but heated by his fevered skin. The color of pain might be the white that explodes behind his eyes with each cough, or it could be the blackness that follows. If he passes out he’ll probably suffocate on the blood that won’t stop coming up, so he forces the dizziness away the best he can. Dying like this isn’t- There has to be more time left than this. Another couple months might not be enough to see this through to the end, but he’ll take just about anything at this point. The image of Kondo-san, or Chizuru, or any of the guys finding him dead in his bed is too much. The thought of dying alone in his room instead of surrounded by other bodies both alive and dead out on the battlefield is horrifying.

Each cough just brings up more, and more blood. How much blood do lungs even contain? This can’t possibly go on forever. There has to be an end to aching ribs, and a searing throat. He covers his eyes with one arm, it does little to stop the images he really doesn’t want to see. The ones his own mind paints of all the things he hasn’t done and all the things he has. This is fucking unbelievable, choking on your own blood has to be one of the worst feelings. Betrayed by his own body.

The door to his room slides open. He can’t see who it is with the way his vision blurs. Can’t raise a hand to keep them back as they slide their arms around him and haul him into an upright position. Sitting up allows gravity to help ease some of the choking feeling. A cloth is pressed to his lips, absorbing not only blood but the hacking sounds that had been filling his ears. He can’t tell if it’s seconds or minutes that pass like this. His back resting against an arm that’s incredibly steady compared to his shivering, his hands clenched in the blankets while he allows someone else to keep his coughs at bay. Finally his throat seems to relax enough that he’s able to open his eyes. Breathing takes great effort, but air is moving and the dizziness is subsiding.

Blurred colors separate into individual forms until he can make out Heisuke kneeling beside him, concern with a touch of fear dancing across the angles of his face. Normally he’d be annoyed by someone fussing over him, but this is the closest he’s ever come to dying and that deserves an exception. Heisuke wordlessly offers him a glass of water, and it helps. He starts with tiny sips, still suspicious of liquid going anywhere near his wind pipe. But by halfway through he’s gulping, never has his blood tasted as disgusting as it does now. The water is gone, but there’s an aftertaste of desperation that won’t go. That arm that has been supporting his back is still there, and he’s grateful. It’s a safeguard against collapsing back against his bed. But that doesn’t explain why its owner is here.

“What are you-,” Words use up air that remains in short supply, “doing here?”

His voice seems to draw some of the fear out of Heisuke’s expression. He’d been glancing around at the large blood stains on his bedding uneasily. But hearing Souji speak appears to reassure him that he’s no longer in immediate danger. Shoulders relax visibly, and the look in his eyes shifts from shaken to something sort of comforting.

“I heard you trying to cough a lung up.” Blunt, but not spoken unkindly, “I’m not much help, but it felt wrong to leave you alone to deal with this.” His fingers busy themselves smoothing an invisible knot from his bangs.

“Well I’m pretty sure I’m done dying for now.” He smiles, but his lips won’t seem to hold the expression in place.

“Yeah, you better be.” Heisuke appears hesitant now. His gaze jumps around the room, before he drags it back to Souji. “You really scared me there.”

Something in the way he looks as though he thinks Souji might strike him for expressing his fear doesn’t sit well. Like more than just the blood he’d swallowed is irritating his stomach.

“I’m fine.” He nudges Heisuke’s shoulder with his own. It’s supposed to be comforting, but he’s still tired and ends up leaning on him for support more than anything. “It’ll take more than that to kill someone as rotten as me.”

“That’s not- You’re unbelievable.” Heisuke sighs, voice full with incredulity and maybe a hint of admiration. Souji is consistent if nothing else. “I can get you more water or something?”

Heisuke starts to move before he can reply, and suddenly he’s faced with the possibility of being alone. His hand shoots out and catches Heisuke’s wrist. His own gasping breath is still ringing in his ears, and the thought of Heisuke leaving feels way too much like abandonment. Illness is isolating in so many ways that people will never truly understand unless they’ve been there. You get ignored so that you can ‘recover in peace.’ When really it’s because it hurts for others to look at you and not know what to say or do. Your feelings take a backseat to what needs to be done for your body, and you’re collapsed into a tiny box that is your sickness. Sympathies and condolences start to sound hollow, and when you’re sick of hearing them people get the impression that you don’t want company. Eventually they abandon you to your fate. If you live great, if you die at least they’ve had time to prepare themselves. It gets lonely living as a patient rather than a person. He’s been somewhat fortunate. Heisuke has somehow managed to remember Souji Okita, in spite of tuberculosis hiding him away. That’s someone he wants around. Someone who refuses to let him forget that he is a person, that he is still alive. That’s as potent as anything Matsumoto-sensei can whip up.

Still his gesture was a bit rash. Blame it on a lack of oxygen to his brain. Heisuke’s eyes travel from where Souji’s fingers are wrapped around his wrist back up to his eyes. And there is no judgement, no belittlement, or disapproval there. That’s surprising, and unsurprising. Heisuke is many things. He’s not immune to snap reactions, he isn’t called ‘master forerunner’ for nothing. But this doesn’t seem to bother him. Because he is sickeningly kind when it comes to the people he calls friend. Souji would once argue he was idiot for it. Him and Chizuru, overly concerned about others those two. But they’re also sound.

Heisuke is _able_ to be as kind as he is because he is grounded enough in his own emotions that he is able to truly value those of others. It’s hard to appreciate what others are going through when you can’t even place what you’re feeling. Heisuke doesn’t have that problem. Every expression of concern or compassion from him is one hundred percent sincere. He stops, takes the time to really think about his actions and how they affect others. Sometimes he probably over thinks, but lately Souji is (almost) willing to admit that may not be a bad thing. He should probably let go of Heisuke, come up with some cutting remark as to why he grabbed him. But that seems like a lot of work to get out when he’s already dug himself in this deep. Besides there’s something he’s been curious about… And maybe it’s wrong to test your curiosities out on someone else, but he supposes it could also be construed as some sort of thank you.

There’s not much strength in his arms, but Heisuke’s not excepting it and that gives him enough of an edge to tug him close. Now he hears surprise more than he sees it, breathing pattern accelerating and becoming just a bit erratic. That sound is muffled by his mouth slanting across Heisuke’s. He is tight with shock. But his lips are pretty smooth, if not a bit dry. He can feel a pulse thrumming under his thumb where one of his hands has come to rest against Heisuke’s neck. Life. There’s life, and vigor there that he definitely appreciates. He probably tastes like blood, but that doesn’t stop him from pressing harder.

Heisuke doesn’t move at first. He stays pretty much stock still. Not shoving Souji away, but not exactly encouraging him either. Then he feels it. Just the slightest movement forward, followed by the relaxation of his mouth that allows their lips to glide together easier. Hands that had been clenched tightly by sides, come to rest on his shoulders. Hesitant, but accepting. Doesn’t that just ache? When he pulls away he doesn’t open his eyes right away. There are usually repercussions to this kind of action, and maybe he just alienated the person that he wanted to keep around. It wouldn’t be unlike him to muck up a relationship. He’s learned he’s particularly good at that.

“Souji?” Heisuke’s voice is flustered, confused. Not pissed though. That’s a good sign. “What the hell?”

“You said not all things that are good for you taste bad.” He grins. Confidence comes easier when Heisuke tilts his head in bewilderment. “I wanted to test that.”

“On me?” There are emotions racing each other around Heisuke’s eyes. Intuition says he’s over thinking again.

“Of course on you, you’re the one who said it.”

“So?” Heisuke’s watching him with suspicion and amusement.

“You’re not as sweet as peaches.” The expression of _No shit,_ would have made him laugh if his throat wasn’t in protest of making such a noise. “But you’re definitely better than medicine. I think we could substitute you into my health care routine.”

“Not a substitution, you still have to take your medicine.”

“Hmm? So you _are_ volunteering!”

“What!? No! Yes-“ His hand covers his eyes for a minute while a blush spreads from his cheeks to his ears. “Maybe? I want to help. If you think this helps…”

“It does.” Directness only seems to make Heisuke’s embarrassment grow. He’s fine with that. If he can’t get color back in his own face, he might as well put it in someone else’s.

Kissing someone isn’t something he’d put a lot of thought into. Because kissing always seems to find itself linked to feelings. Not always romantic, but still something. There doesn’t exactly seem to be a point in shoving your lips against someone else’s for nothing but the physical sensation. Saliva isn’t all that exciting, and lips don’t actually have much of a taste. It’s that jolt that lights up your nerves with a sensation that you are incapable of recreating on your own. He has never considered himself as one who needs something as fickle as emotion. Swords simply do as their masters ask, and that doesn’t require thoughts or feelings. But some time has passed since he’s been able to join in any battles, and that longing for intensity has punched a hole in his gut. Isolation tears at his skin, and fear of uselessness splits cracks into his heart.

These are feelings that remind him he’s alive, that he has something to lose. But they hurt. They do nearly as much damage as his disease, crumbling his world into nothing but his blade and his bed. And that’s what brings him circling back to Heisuke and his damn peaches. Heisuke has taken all those dark broken places, and shined a light through them. Light has been a stranger to him for a long time, but it’s warm. And it illuminates all the things he has not yet lost. All of the things that make him able to forget that he’s dying, and remember that he’s also living. Living and dying. Opposites, but they can exist at the same time, in the same body. It’s all a matter of perspective. Heisuke is so many things that he is not, but they mesh pretty well. Maybe Hijikata-san wasn’t drunk when he’d assigned him Heisuke as his patrol partner, when Hajime-kun had been the obvious choice.

“That was pretty rude of you.” He thinks one of his favorite parts about having Heisuke around is how easily he can tease him.

“What?” Heisuke turns to stare at him, his mind clearly sorting through anything he may have done to offend Souji in the last few minutes.

“I did almost all the work.” He sighs in mock exhaustion, leaning back until he’s propped up by just elbows. “You just sat there for most of it. You spend all that time at Shimabara and that’s the best you can do?”

Realization dawns on Heisuke’s face, halting confusion for mirth to take its place. He doesn’t sputter at the joke like Chizuru would, or puff up in anger like Hijikata-san. His sense of humor has always been pretty well developed, only Souji’s darkest jokes seem to bother him. Honestly, he’d be a bit concerned if Heisuke _wasn’t_ offended by some of the shit he says. He’s got strong morals, and won’t back down on those for anyone.

“It was hardly fair. You didn’t give me any warning.”

“Now Heisuke, a good warrior needs to be able to react to a situation without any- _mmph_ ”

Heisuke’s got his hands balled in the front of Souji’s yukata, pushing him down and leaning over him. The roughness is almost reminiscence of the time he pushed Heisuke too hard with the ochimizu comment, but this aggression is a completely different kind. And instead of shaking him around, he’s kissing him. It’s not perfect, Heisuke is over eager and knocks their teeth together painfully before Souji presses with his tongue until Heisuke catches on. It doesn’t take him long, and now they’ve got something of a rhythm established. He yanks the tie out of Heisuke’s hair, he had forgotten just how long it is until he feels it fall all around his head like a curtain. It’s fluffier than Hijikata-san’s. It gets tangled when he winds it around his fingers. Heat spreads through him that’s nothing like a fever, and damn does it feel nice when Heisuke’s hands leave his yukata and start tracing up and down his sides that are still sore from shaking with coughs. The touch is firm on the slide down, and lighter on the way back up. The muscles there appreciate the gesture, but not as much as Souji himself does.

Every movement Heisuke makes proves exactly how in tune he has been to what Souji’s going through, to what hurts both inside and out…. That pulls him toward a dangerous area, so he pulls Heisuke’s hair instead. He gets bit on the lip in return, and smiles at the way that little bit of pain sparks him with a competitive edge that has him determined to make sure Heisuke doesn’t get too full of himself just because he’s physically above Souji. They giving and taking, inhaling and exhaling. Sometimes they miss, and kisses end up on a chin or the very corner of the mouth, before they find each other’s lips again. Funny how no matter how forceful they get with each, the overarching feeling is that of sharing. Sure Heisuke’s giving, but he’s also taking something. And that feels oddly nice, to be able to give something Heisuke’s seeking in return.

When they pull away there’s a faint dizziness, and gulping for breaths. His throat tingles like it might rebel, but ultimately it stays quiet. It’s had its fun for tonight, one near death experience is plenty. Arms wrap around him and give a squeeze. Hugs aren’t something that many people give him. Kondo-san is the only one that comes to mind, and this is totally different from that. The idea is the same, arms positioned in a sort of circular shape and then tightening. But Heisuke’s hug doesn’t feel like Kondo-san’s. It’s warm and comfortable, but there are no expectations. No pressure of living up to the idea Heisuke has of him.

That’s a lot to take in. Giving his all for Kondo-san. That’s all he’s ever wanted. But Souji is painfully aware that he is not everything Kondo-san thinks he is. And sometimes trying to form himself into the image of someone Kondo-san can be proud of is exhausting. Living for someone else breaks you down, makes you sacrifice your own needs. And ultimately that makes him _less_ able to serve Kondo-san. So maybe. Just maybe, he needs to make for room for showing himself as he really is. To let someone see all that darkness and cynicism, and swallow it down. Accept it, and accept him. Heisuke has seen the good, bad, and ugly. And he’s still here. Isn’t that the biggest surprise of all? That Heisuke who loves life and smiles, can accept a sword as a person easier than so many others.

“Hey, Heisuke?” The smallness of his voice sounds strange to his ears, but he’s too tired to build it up. “You’re staying right?”

“Hmm?” Sleepiness pulls Heisuke’s eyelids down, and fills his words with more air than voice. “Yeah, of course.”

_Of course._ People make promises to stick together all the time that never last. Humans are self-serving creatures. They do what will progress their goals. The people they choose to keep around them are pawns in those games that are easily traded away for better, stronger pieces. But once in a while there’s that idiot who just has to break those rules. Kondo-san is one. Heisuke is another. Who throws their lot in with a guy who already has one foot in the ground? Who gathers up what’s broken and doesn’t try to fix it, but simply appreciates it for everything it still is? Heisuke is a fool. But there’s freedom in his kindness that helps to carry those around him onward. Souji shakes his head before tugging the blanket up further so that it covers both them. If anyone caught him in such an act he’d have to kill them. He is not particularly kind. There isn’t room for many people in that thing in his chest that might be a heart. But certain people don’t have the sense of self-preservation to leave him to meet whatever fate has in store for by himself. Facing death standing alone on his own two feet is a dream. Dreams change. They aren’t always obtainable, neither is doing everything on your own. He has no intention of reading too much into whatever Heisuke has become to him. There’s no point. Thoughts like those have no place in war, and he won’t live long enough to see his findings through even if were to go soul searching. This doesn’t need defined anyway. Heisuke is by his side, and that’s already more than he can ask for.

 

**Author's Note:**

> This is what happens when no one tells me that my crazy ideas are crazy. 
> 
> As I said earlier, this was a really experimental fic for me. I didn't go into it with the intention of it getting shippy the way it did, but Souji stopped behaving towards the end so there's that. Heisuke and Souji's relationship is one I wish more time got spent on, because I think Heisuke shares a couple of traits with Chizuru that make him really good for Souji. I've never written from Souji's POV before, and this was a crazy ride. But I'm glad I did it. 
> 
> (Fun facts:  
> 1.This was almost titled: "Fic in which Heisuke is a cinnamon roll and Souji wants a piece"  
> 2\. I don't even like peaches, and I took a bite of one for the sake of this fic.  
> 3\. This fic was started before 'Deconstruction' but I got stuck and debated scrapping it. And then it came back because Souji will not be silenced.)


End file.
